I just moved from Pennsylvania to Louisiana, and while you might expect this entry to be about the heat and humidity (which is brutal, trust me!), it's not.
It's about unpacking. If it weren't for the total nightmare of selling and closing on our old house, I'd think unpacking was the worse part of moving. Actually, packing was worse, I guess, but I hate the fact that we're here, in our new beautiful house and I still have work to do to make us actually HERE.
Anyway, my bedroom, which is more like a suite and has the potential to be a room I would never want to leave, especially if Beloved buys the bedroom set he's been looking at, is full of boxes. All the boxes that he didn't know what to do with when the movers came were put here!
I finally can't live with it anymore, so I started unpacking some of the boxes we've been walking around. I found TWO fairly large boxes of books I want to read.
I know this is an obsession, an addiction, a guilty pleasure - buying more books than I can ever read. I go into a bookstore (and the Barnes & Noble near here is AMAZING - we were there two days ago) and I start to feel this anxiety. There are more books than I'll ever be able to afford, to read or more importantly - these are books I DIDN'T WRITE!!!
I literally wander around the romance section and wonder if all the good ideas are gone!!
Oh, my, I'm starting to feel antsy again. I think I need to go deal with kids. Maybe the thoughts will go away!